Batman: Old Hounds, Old Foxes
by Spop
Summary: Batman is getting old. He stands these days as a symbol of the past. But when someone begins blowing up buildings around Gotham he is called upon once more, this time accompanied by an old enemy. 3-Chapter piece written for practice. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

This morning the small building on the corner of Winchester and 8th had blown up. It was a soup kitchen, feeding the homeless breakfast every weekday between 7 and 9 am. Several barrels of gunpowder had been hidden in the basement and were lit via fuse and match. The technique was primitive but effective nonetheless. All evidence suggested that a child between the ages of 8 and 12 was the one responsible for lighting the fuse. His body had been the only one discovered in the rubble of the basement. Still, with the identity of the boy unknown it was hard to determine any possible motive. Let alone one that explained why an innocent youth would take his own life and kill 11 others.

The really troublesome part was that incidents such as this had been happening all week. Four days ago an office responsible for handling adoption paperwork exploded. Again: barrels of gunpowder, a child perpetrator, four fatalities. A public welfare building had been targeted yesterday as well. Luckily in this case the barrels had been spread too far apart and the only fatality was that of the kid behind the crime. Unfortunately the survivors of either incident could not say how or why it had happened. The bombings had been stirring up a fuss at the police department... The case was proving tough, even for an aged Dark Knight.

Presently, with the sun still setting behind Gotham City, Batman was secluded within his cave. He sat before his computer, facing three towering screens. He was still in costume from the night before. Only his cowl had been taken off, now hanging back off of his shoulders like the hood of a sweater. Both the suit and its wearer seemed battered. The black material was dressed with legions of silver scrapes and scratches. There were dark circles around Bruce's eyes and their lids were swollen with a lack of sleep. His gray hair was sporadic, face unshaven, lips dry and cracked. He was obviously stressed, both by the situation before him and the deafening thought that he was losing his edge.

The computer screens were aligned evenly against the wall of the Batcave. The one to Bruce's left was covered in text – fatality list. The screen directly ahead of him was split into a pattern of video feeds, each playing different camera footage. The screen to Bruce's right was a solid blue, apparently unused. Despite having already gone through days of security tapes he was still empty handed. He just couldn't figure out how the kids, or the bombs for that matter, had gotten into each building undetected.

He was missing something. He knew that. Bruce just couldn't piece together what it was. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers up to massage his temples. In his mind, the image of Alfred had appeared. "What am I missing?" Often these days thinking of Alfred's company brought a peace to Bruce, even though he knew he would never again have the real instance. Occasionally, in these states of relaxation, he could summon the detective he once was...

After a few moments though, Bruce could only sigh in defeat. Frustrated, he pushed himself from his chair, feeling his bones and muscles ache as he did so. Time was really catching up with him, both in image and in comfort. His eyes fell upon a small table in the distance. It was placed just to the side of the staircase. There was a small brown urn on top of the table, very much like a teapot just without the spout. Something was carved on the surface... The word was one Bruce did not need to read to know. 'Pennyworth.'

"I can't stop." Bruce wished that his butler could hear him. Alfred had spent his final days begging for Bruce to hang up his cape before it was too late. Ever since the man passed Bruce felt required to explain himself to that jar.

Suddenly a female voice echoed throughout the cave, breaking through to Bruce's distraught mind. The blue screen of the computer was replaced by the image of a mature red-haired woman. "Are you there?"

Bruce instinctively pulled his mask over his face, comfortable looking at the screen only if hidden behind the Bat. "I'm here. Is something wrong?"

"No. But the signal is up."

"Something happened at the PD?"

"No Bruce. But someone is there to see you."

Bruce clenched his jaw tightly. His visits to the police department had become increasingly rare and unpleasant. The last time he had set foot on the rooftop had been more than three months ago - the new captain had been intimidated by a small street gang. That was it. Ever since Gordon's retirement the police seemed less and less trusting of the Batman.

Bruce knew Oracle had avoided giving him a name or description intentionally, so Bruce didn't probe her for more details. He would find out all he needed once arriving. If it had been specifically dangerous she would have warned him. Instead, he brought up something else. "How is he doing, Oracle?"

The woman on screen visibly swallowed. Bruce's question had hit a nerve. She gazed down, away from the camera, before looking back up with false confidence. He could tell when she was lying. "He's doing fine. The doctors said -"

Bruce interrupted her. "I will visit him. Soon."

Oracle nodded, taking a deep breath. She could tell when he was lying too. The communications screen cut back to blue without another word.

# # #

It seemed like the signal had become some sort of inferior technology. More like a memorial than an emergency line. Even now, with the dark shape of a bat silhouetted against the clouds, parents were pointing up at the symbol and chatting to their kids about how scary things used to be. It seemed the city as a whole was become one such, 'used to be.' The city used to be filled to the brim with crime. Now it was thinning out. It used to be scared. Now those who had admired the Batman were strengthening society on their own. Bruce Wayne used to have two identities. Now he wasn't sure if there was even one remaining.

He had longed for years for Gotham to stop needing him. But it had taken the city so long to grow up... Perhaps he had become dependent, having lived off of his identity as the Dark Knight for so long. When his evenings were spent fighting small-time thugs until his lungs gave out, the end was definitely nigh. Still, Bruce couldn't bring himself to accept it. It was hard imagining a Gotham without madmen like the Joker, even though that particular clown hadn't been seen for nearly 5 years. It was harder still to imagine Gotham without a Batman.

The Dark Knight landed on the rooftop of the GCPD with a light thud – if the suit hadn't been modified to decrease the sound of his impact, it would have been louder. A group of officers and detectives filled the roof to great the Batman. Only one approached. Silva. He was promoted to the top of the force after Gordon left. He didn't like the Batman. He wanted Gotham to support itself by means that didn't include vigilantism. Bruce wasn't sure what his opinion of the man was... Courageous yet ignorant. The same situation many seemed to face these days.

"Long time no see." Silva spoke to the Bat with his head held high. "I wasn't sure if you were still around."

"I'm always around." Bruce's voice was deep, forced to an unnatural pitch out of habit.

"Yeah, so I've heard. Luckily it seems we can finally put you to use. Our detectives are a bit stumped by the recent attacks. It's something uncommon for this day, I can't say I blame them for being a bit perplexed..."

Bruce said nothing. Oracle had mentioned that someone was here to see him. Why was Silva rambling about the case and not getting to the point?

"But, I seem to remember you coming from a day when explosions were quite common. It's almost like you and Gotham's old reputation go hand-in-hand, wouldn't you say?"

Bruce answered. Silva's tone was becoming too irritating to ignore. "Get to the point."

"Well, I originally wasn't going to call on you. After all, I figured that if you were half the man Gordon claimed you were, then this sort of thing wouldn't have happened in the first place. However, someone came in a few hours ago claiming he had information on the attacks. Despite convincing him that we were much more capable... he only wanted to talk to you."

Now the group of law enforcement officers parted for a second man to approach. This figure was much larger, head-and-shoulders over Batman. Toned and thick like a weight lifter. Skin a greyish-brown; rough with battle experience and patches of almost scale-like flesh. Upper torso covered in scars. His head was shaved. Patches of skin that were obviously sewn onto his own body covered areas of his face, masking his mouth like folds of patched cloth. He had obviously spent time beneath an untalented surgeon, trying to change something about his looks. Despite these alterations - his ears each of different shape and color, his nose replaced by two mere slits – he looked more like a reptillian Frankenstein than like a man.

"Batman." A soft voice drifted from the giant. His mismatched lips changed all pronunciation to sound more like a bad accent, but it was still decipherable.

Bruce brought himself to say the name of the man before him. "Waylon Jones." Years ago their encounters came only in the forms of life-and-death experiences. But now 'Killer Croc' represented something else - days of purpose. Even if they had been on opposite sides of a war years ago, some lingering respect must have been responsible for this meeting. Bruce was curious, to say the least, but he had something to say before they could settle down. "We're not talking here."

# # #

Bruce and Waylon were now on another rooftop, far away from the judging ears of Silva and the rest of the department. Not a word had been spoken on their way there, Batman flying from building to building while Waylon had gotten stuck trying to keep up. Bruce had purposefully slowed down. Even with his mind running a million scenarios a minute he could not imagine what business Killer Croc had with him. How he could be involved with the recent bombings was even more confusing.

"You disappeared six years ago, Jones. Why show back up now?"

"Something has been taken from me."

Bruce could tell that it was hard for the man to form proper words. After spending years only screaming and grunting, he must have had to learn how to speak all over again. "Money?"

"Not money." Jones was audibly struggling with his speech. As he continued though, it seemed more due to a troubled mind than to his deformed lips. "A child was taken from me."

Bruce hid his surprise well. What business did a beast like Killer Croc have with a child? "Explain, Jones."

"I retreated to the sewers six years ago." Bruce already knew that much. "After all the years of body modification. Change after change, only on top of the disease that first cursed me... my mind grew tired of being a beast." Waylon paused, not looking at Batman but instead over the edge of the building.

Bruce said nothing. He wasn't yet sure how sincere these words were.

"People in Gotham were insane. Madmen. Manipulation, betrayal. I saw 'good' men commit crimes not forbidden by any law. Those people. They called me the monster. When my anger finally died out... I realized that I had been doing nothing for myself."

Bruce could admit to feeling something behind Waylon's words. Yet he could not forget their purpose. There was talk of a child here. That was what had been important, not the redemption of a murderer. "The kid."

"Before I tell you..." Now Jones looked back to Bruce. "Swear that if you help me, and you feel that you must bring me in at the end of it all... Swear that you will send me to prison. Not Arkham. Not again. Too many times this city called me crazy just because of my appearance. If I am to be punished after all of this I do not need to be ridiculed or judged any more than necessary."

"Fine. But get on with it."

"After fleeing, and after my visits to the doctor, I met the kid. He had been abandoned. Homeless. Forsaken more so because he was a victim in a Joker bombing and he had lost all motor function in his face. Tossed away as if he was infectious, Batman. More 'good' citizens cast out a child because of something he had no control over... I watched him for a while. A good kid. Never once did I see him steal from or hurt another. But he was attacked one night by a gang. I stepped in." Waylon paused here, apparently caught in the memory.

Bruce was certain it was filled with more blood than nobility. "Continue."

"He thanked me, Batman. He did not run away. He did not scream. He thanked me... After that I stuck around. I guess I acted as his par - ...as a protector. I did for him what no one ever did for me. And for nearly five years I looked out for him. We may have lived in the sewers, but we were a family, Batman. Somehow, one kid did what no surgery could do..."

This time the pause was welcome. Bruce couldn't help but think back to the days when he was accompanied by his own family. Dick, Tim, even Jason... "What happened?" Batman pushed on despite his own distractions. At least now he was beginning to doubt Waylon's involvement with the bombings.

"There's a man underground. Wants to do something memorable, so he's been kidnapping homeless for weeks. Using them for his twisted deeds... No one thinks they're important so no one's noticed." Honestly, Bruce had taken note of the disappearances, he just hadn't connected them to the bombings. Jones continued. "I didn't care either. Until my child disappeared."

Waylon was done talking. But Bruce wasn't sure what to say. This wasn't what he had expected to hear from an old enemy. He let duty replace any compassion. "Why come to me?"

Waylon looked down as if temporarily caught in shame. "I'm an old hound, Batman. I'm something this city let out and forgot. I'm not what I once was... But I knew that you were. Even if Gotham is trying to forget you too, I knew you were still here. In the shadows. Like always. They called you the World's Greatest Detective then. And I thought, even if you, like the rest of us, have grown old... We always have our final hunt, right?"

Bruce could only offer a slight nod. "I assume you have evidence for me."

# # #

Waylon had led Bruce through a broken sewer grate. They then walked to where Jones claimed the boy had been kidnapped. On the roof Bruce had been comfortable. Hearing Waylon talk he was almost tempted to trust the man. After entering this domain though, he remembered his early fights with Killer Croc. Yet he had come in without a Plan B. If Waylon tried anything Bruce would have no choice but to incapacitate him. Painfully.

"How do you know this is the location he was taken from?" Bruce stayed a few paces behind the would-be guide. He wanted to have room to move, just in case.

Waylon only kept walking. "It's just around the corner. Don't worry."

The statement only managed to further turn Bruce's gut. Just what had he been thinking? Killer Croc was a beast. A wild animal that had gotten loose in the city. He was meant to be put down. Yet he had managed to lure Bruce right into his lair. The stress had made him too desperate... Batman's eyes were darting around behind his mask, looking for the best emergency exit. Jones then turned a corner.

Following cautiously, Bruce found himself shocked at what he saw. A large opening had been built into the side of the walkway they had been standing on, probably originally built to hold equipment should a problem have arisen with the system. However, it had been renovated. There was a table-sized cooler in the corner. A couch had been laid out. A mass of blankets and pillows were rolled up in the back, obviously having served as a bed. And there, in the middle of it all, was a dry copper-colored smear. Blood.

Bruce walked passed Jones immediately, thoughts of the man's betrayal gone. If this really was the kid's blood, and Waylon hadn't been lying, this was the best lead Bruce could have asked for. He knelt down beside the stain, dragging a finger across it. Immediately a green display lit up before Batman, visible only to him through the lenses of his cowl. Waylon could only watch as Bruce's suit acted as a portable crime lab. After a few moments of watching information slide down through his line of sight, Bruce stood back up. The DNA matched a child registered as a victim of Joker venom 7 years ago. It corroborated Waylon's story. He had been being genuine, after all...

"Well?" Waylon seemed anxious.

"We follow the trail." Bruce reached up, pushing a finger against a pressure switch on his mask. It instantly searched for any near traces of DNA that matched the blood sample. Bruce's vision tinted green, then blue, then yellow, before settling back to natural pigmentation. Now though, anything that matched with the suit's parameters was highlighted red.

Waylon stood silent as Bruce took the lead. Again they found themselves navigating though the web of sewer tunnels. It was a potentially futile search, but as Bruce caught sight of spot after spot where the boy's body must have been set down, he was repeatedly able to resume the trail. It led them to a skyward access tunnel. Looking up the shaft, knowing that it was where he needed to go, Bruce tried to recall the blueprints to this part of the city's underground... He hadn't uploaded the information to his suit. He also couldn't remember. But he had to move foreword, and accordingly he went first up the ladder.

The two emerged on another walkway similar to the one that had led them through the sewers. Now though, instead of looking at a river of septic debris sailing beside them there was a pair of steel tracks. Old subway tracks. They were in an old abandoned tunnel. Bruce looked to Jones, a blank expression on his face but a question on his mind. The deformed man gave him no answer. Neither one of them knew exactly where this was. Somehow it had been forgotten, even to the city itself. Not unlike other things.

Looking further around, Bruce could see traces of the lost boy's DNA almost everywhere. He switched off the tracer. It wasn't going to help now. "We've got to be close." Still in the lead, he began to walk along the tracks.

After a few paces, Bruce stopped. Waylon halted alongside him. Before Bruce could ask, Waylon answered his question. "I hear it too."

Both men had picked up on the same sound. Although it was faint, they could hear breathing. Something was unnatural about it, though. Like there was pressure on the person's chest. Now the pair stepped in unison, and all too quickly their eyes fell upon the source of the sound.

It was a child. Not the child they had been looking for, judging by how Waylon didn't rush towards him, but a young boy nonetheless. He couldn't have been more than ten. His body was sprawled out upon the tracks, either leg twisted at an impossible angle. His face was bruised. Clothes were shredded. Stomach a bloody, open mess. There was more dangling out of him than could have possibly been inside. Someone had tortured the boy... He wasn't going to be alive much longer...

Waylon stepped foreword. His eyes looked heavy, burdened by sadness. But behind them Bruce saw purpose. Jones had been created by Gotham's darkness. "Stop." Bruce ordered and Waylon listened. "Leave him." He knew that Waylon's first thought had been to end the child's suffering...

Standing there, the boy trying to cling on to life... Both men watched the light fade from his eyes.

"You should have let me." Waylon looked to Bruce. It was obviously he felt like he had done something wrong.

Bruce replied by bringing a finger to his mouth. Waylon hadn't realized it, but the sound was still in the air...

As each looked around, all but in unison, they were able to make out shapes in the shadows ahead of them. The outlines of bodies. Children's bodies. The pair looked over each child one by one. They were all just as battered as the one they had spotted first. Some were worse off. Others were already dead - had been dead for some time.

"My god..." One man spoke what the other was thinking.

All of sudden, more noises began to fill the tunnel. Shouting. Cheering. Laughing. It all came too quickly to be understood. The railway began to echo in a chorus of a million different cries. Bruce's head was turning back and forth, constantly checking either end of the tunnel, trying to determine the source of the sound. His eyes settled on a maintenance door on the far wall.

"Do you see them?" Waylon's puzzled expression made his already mangled face look even worse.

Bruce looked back to the tunnel ahead. And then to the tunnel behind him. The same thing was at either end now. Children. Easily two dozen of them. Judging by their size, they ranged in age from just under 10 to the mid-teens. Their clothes were over-sized and tattered. Hair long and pulled back behind their heads.

"Don't hurt them." Bruce was speaking almost to himself.

Each child was armed with their own make-shift weapons. Knives. Railroad spikes. Baseball bats. Strips of barbed wire. Forks tied together at the end of a rope. Anything that could cut or bruise was in their hands. Suddenly Bruce understood what had happened to the injured children. They must have trespassed. Or worse, they were just the weaker ones, getting weeded out.

Waylon's entire body tensed. "Do they know that rule?"


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment the children's shouting faded to just background noise. Bruce knew the obstacle before him. He didn't need to analyze every sound the kids were making, it would only distract him. He needed to figure out what to do. He needed things to slow down. He had to get into the mental state he had once lived in... In the dark of the tunnel, beyond the mass of vicious children, Bruce could see a shadow darker than the rest. It was the shape of Alfred...

"I'm not about to kill a bunch of kids." Jones was looking to Batman for some sort of advice. The man's temperament again caught Bruce off guard, but it did manage to break the ghostly distraction.

Bruce knew what they had to do. "They come at you. Take them down. Minimal damage." His demands summoned a nod from Waylon.

The children, growing more and more anxious with the passing seconds, were now bouncing up and down, weapons flailing aimlessly. Bruce's eyes were still beyond them, looking for a way out. Something wasn't adding up. Kids didn't just turn like this. Unfortunately, he could find no answers before one of the children ran at him, aluminum bat raised.

Bruce caught the bat with one hand, bringing everyone's attention to the encounter. He slammed the edge of his hand and wrist down upon the child's neck. The kid slumped down. He hadn't felt it, but he would be unconscious for the next few minutes. As if enraged, the rest of the pack rushed at Batman and his accomplice.

The men took turns blocking and dodging the incoming attacks, doing their best to avoid getting injured by the more dangerous weapons. One by one the kids were tossed aside, most of them being knocked out by single blows. But even though their numbers were steadily decreasing they still took a toll on the investigators.

Bruce hadn't been involved in such demanding action for some time. He had forgotten what it meant to thoroughly analyze each and every attack. He needed to know exactly how much pressure to apply, where to apply it, how to shift the child's weight after attacking – he was building up a sweat, in the least. Waylon on the other hand had been spending the last several years building a wall to separate him from his old reputation. With every punch thrown, he could feel his noble image breaking down.

As the crowd began wearing down, Bruce and Waylon were finally able to look over the faces of the children. The remaining ones were either too nervous to attack or they were smart enough to know they were already losing. One of the faces, though, was special. As soon as Waylon caught sight of the boy, he stopped fighting, leaving two children to continue battering his legs with a spatula and a broom handle.

"You're okay." His voice had become gentle, still thick with his deformed accent but obviously meant to calm. He pushed through the two attacking children without effort, coming closer to the boy that he had lost.

There was a cut on the child's neck. Dark spots dressed every inch of exposed skin. He looked better than the other kids that inhabited the tunnels but in no way did he look okay. His face was emotionless, caught in a sort of forced frown - the result of medical treatment after being attacked by the Joker. He made no movement towards Jones, nor did he try to speak. He simply looked at his old protector, tears threatening to fall.

One of the remaining kids, who must have been in his early teens, noticed that something was shared between Jones and the boy. He stepped towards Waylon's child, wrapping an arm around the kid's shoulders and bringing a knife to his stomach. The older youth smiled a bit, obviously lost in the madness. "You know this freak?" He looked at Waylon's boy almost playfully. "You care about him?" He poked the boy with the tip of the knife. Jones sneered. "You not gonna fight? You plan on defyin' the Captain?" The knife was pressed harder against the boy's stomach.

Waylon let out a fierce growl, reminding Bruce of the man's old temper. Batman too had stopped fighting the children, but only because those remaining were now fixated on the situation between Waylon's child and the teen. Bruce's glare locked onto Jones. "He's just a kid." He knew he couldn't stop Waylon from protecting what he rightfully felt was his own child, but he couldn't just let him maul the older boy.

"I know. I won't kill him." In a flash Waylon's old speed kicked in, his thick legs jumping and propelling him towards the two children. His thick fingers were locked around the wrist of the teenager in a blink. "I might just have to take his hand."

Waylon's words made the older boy tremble. Despite Waylon's grip, he dropped the knife. Releasing the weapon allowed Waylon to let go, and just when he did the child bolted away. The other kids, watching one of their bravest members flee, lost all of their remaining courage. They followed the teen away and into the dark, absent their brave shouts.

Bruce, Waylon, and the kidnapped child they had been searching for were left alone. Waylon dropped to his knees, trying to encourage the kid's safety by bringing his own towering form to the child's level. After a brief pause the kid fell foreword, arms coiling around Waylon's abdomen and squeezing tightly. Waylon draped his arms over the child's shoulders, holding the boy close. The child began to cry audibly, sobs escaping him after every breath. Waylon, too, let a few tears fall.

It was only then that Bruce realized just how human Waylon really was... Over all those years, he had been considered one of the most threatening monsters in Gotham's underbelly. Yet, here he was, crying after being reunited with a boy completely unrelated to him. After all that time being ridiculed, taunted, judged and criticized for the mutation he had been born with, Waylon had let the city believe he really was a beast. In reality, he had only grown vulnerable...

The heartfelt moment was interrupted by the high-pitched groan of old wood and the defeaning roar of a gunshot. Bruce, who had been watching Waylon and the boy, could only look on as a bullet slammed into the back of the child's head. Blood sprayed out from the entry wound, more fluids and masses of brain splashing against Waylon's chest. Jones looked down slowly after feeling the bullet crash against his thick skin... And when he saw the child he had been searching for laying limp in his arms, head lolled foreword with a gaping hole staring back... Waylon froze.

Bruce immediately looked to the source of the gunshot. The sound may have echoed, but he still knew where it had come from. The maintenance door was standing ajar, a man standing in the entrance. His face was dark, hidden by tangles of ratty dark hair, with a black wide-brimmed hat on his head. A faded green trench coat hung over the rest of his tattered clothes. He wore tall black boots, laced up to his calves and over his ripped jeans. The handgun he had used to shoot the child was still held up, pointing towards Waylon and the kid's corpse. Without thinking, Batman rushed towards him.

The man turned heel and rushed back behind the door, slamming it behind him. Batman flung the door open with ease, driven by an adrenaline that he had long forgotten. He passed through the door just in time to see the culprit duck around a corner. He kept up the chase, realizing that the passage he was entering had been carved out of the original maintenance hallway. He was now within a tunnel dug through the wall and into the earth itself. They must have been using tunnels to get into the buildings...

He spotted the corner of the man's coat flinging around another corner. Bruce tried to push himself as hard as he could. He tried to make himself faster. His legs pumped as quickly as they ever had. But he couldn't keep up the pace. And while it seemed his target was only speeding up in the labyrinth-like tunnels, Bruce was slowing down. When he turned another corner and saw nothing he stopped in his tracks, throwing his hand against the dirt wall to support himself. He was out of breath. His chest was on fire. He really had lost it...

Meanwhile, Waylon was alone with his loss. He was standing now, the boy's body spread out before him, arms at his side. The child's eyes had been slid shut. There were small scratches on the boy's eyelids where Waylon's claw-like nails had pulled them down. The man was shaking, beside himself with anger. This wasn't the rage born from Killer Croc's frustration... Waylon was experiencing something far worse. The pain of a man having lost his child.

He looked to the door that Bruce had disappeared behind. "I'm sorry." His voice shook, weak with devastation. Despite the sorrow, his words still ended with a growl.

Batman pressed a trigger on the side of his mask, searching for the faintest trail of body heat. And he found it. He began navigating the tunnels once more, now at a more suitable pace. He had to keep moving. Even if he was immeasurably far behind, he had to try. Before long, he stumbled across something unexpected.

A small cave, dug into the side of the tunnel, expanding just large enough for a single room. Bruce entered. The room was already lit with a series of electric lanterns, and accordingly it was easy for him to make out even the small details. There was a desk. A chair. And a bookshelf. He looked over the titles slowly. "Blackbeard," "The Fountain of Youth," "Immortality and Philosophy," "Peter Pan." The books ranged from stories of pirates to social sciences. The Detective's eyes then dropped to the desk. There was a single, rolled out paper in front of him. A map of Gotham City. X's crossed out familiar locations – the buildings that had been attacked throughout the week. One X was larger than the others, representing something different... It marked the Gotham City Orphanage.

Bruce knew what was going on. And he knew the identity of the man he had been chasing. It was a man he long thought dead... Someone forgotten long before the decline costumed crime. Tossed aside while even the Batman was still relevant...

Karl Courtney.

Captain Stingaree.

# # # # #

AUTHOR'S NOTE: About half the size of the last chapter, I know. And I also know some of the transitions were bland. I've been trying to simplify my word use and sentence structure as of late, and while the practice is good for me, unfortunately some of my writing's flow suffers as a result. This of course would be no excuse for bad story-telling, and I hope that any faults weren't severe enough to take away from this tale. If you have any constructive criticism, tips, etc., please share. My ears and eyes are always open, looking for ways to make progress. Also, if you're reading this, I would like to make a quick thank you. Knowing that there are readers out there makes the work I put into this all the more worthwhile.

Also, just as a note, I have finished the final chapter in this story. It may take me longer to edit and publish it (the first two chapters didn't have much time between them), because I am working on preparing the absolute best ending. Again, all comments are welcome!


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